I write this without the intention to offend or depress, but with that I must confess, I feel I must tell you that I write this to cheer you, to ignite the fear into your heart of mispelled thought intentions and potentiality.
Do not look to the sun, for it will only show you your own doubt, a set of push ups you use to look at my own dark outline. Muscles strain, and blood declines from the unknown surplus, my perceptual image. I see it as thus, and as do you, for granted in this game for two, I brave the storm of your excited sigh.
Grant me the earthquake of a bicuspate fault; the realization of the same into the depths of my stomach. Without the time or day, or the radiation of knowledge to the rolling spheres on a ramp of imperfections. You show me where to strive; that all so familiar face in the clouds.
My mind is the ticklish grass on the hill in which I lie on. I stare up at you... and I can't help but be amazed.